


Lessons in Seconds

by FallenKy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bottom Sam, Cock Slut Sam Winchester, Dead Sam Winchester, Dean's just an angry person, Demon Dean Winchester, Dom Dean Winchester, First Time, Fluff, Imagine that, Lots of killing, M/M, Reincarnation, Soulmates, Top Dean, Violence, epic love story of sam and dean winchester, everyone is over 18 when the sex starts for the first time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-18
Updated: 2018-07-18
Packaged: 2019-06-12 07:48:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15335217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FallenKy/pseuds/FallenKy
Summary: It’s just not possible, it’s not. Dean’s been alone two hundred years and lets himself exist with no consequences, fucking the universe at every turn for what it’s done to him, what it took away.And now it’s given back.Knight of Hell Dean Winchester finds out the hard way how complicated Reincarnation is when you share a rebirthed soul.





	Lessons in Seconds

**Author's Note:**

> Exploring in the kink meme I found this prompt from awhile back and just really loved it. Wouldn't stop picking at me so I sat down and wrote it out and the result is way different than what I set out to do. I was thinking short little Sam as a kid flash then adult Sam sex and instead got my first piece really delving into Dean's mindset - albeit Demon Dean. Regardless I really enjoyed it and it was a fab prompt so hopefully, OP see's this even if it's a year or so later. There needs to be more demon Dean wincest! 
> 
> Prompt :
> 
> Sam didn't save him and Dean stayed a demon - an immortal one. But Sam is dead since several years (or centuries) and now Dean can't find peace. His other half is no longer alive. Dean became the most feared demon, crual and ruthless. But one day, he met a little boy (the son's of a hunter maybe?) who just looks like his Sammy - he's the reincarnation of his brother. This is a second chance for Dean. 
> 
> You can do whatever you want with this :)  
> Things I like: angst, fluff, BDSM, more angst, hurt/confort, and a lot of other things. If you want to set this in a ABO world, please feel free :)   
> Please, only bottom!Sam. NO underage sex (Sam must be at least eighteen please?) 

“You need to do something.”  

Screaming.

“Dean.”

Gut wrenching, bloody, gasping screaming.

“You do realize we’re on a tight schedule?”

Dean sticks the knife in deep this time, the pretty little thing choking on the blood that’s bubbling up her throat and drooling over her purpling lips. “You haven’t stopped mentioning it.”

Crowley rolls his eyes, glancing through the crack in the blinds. “Her mother’s going to be home soon.”

“The more the merrier.” He watches her dull eyes widen slightly, her mother’s name bringing her back enough to fight a little more. Dean get’s that, remembers that rush of hope and strength that could come from one little name.

He slits her throat.

“There, you happy?” He grabs a piece of the girls ripped shirt to wipe the blood off his hands, remembers how she’d cried when he’d cut it, thinking his desires laid purely with her body. Unfortunately for her, Dean’s urges go a bit deeper under the skin.

She’s gurgling and it’s an ugly sound but Dean leaves it, used to his kills lingering in their pain and it’s almost soothing to his frayed nerves. Nineteen years old and her use reduced to white noise. Life’s a bitch.

“Explain it again?” Dean sighs, sitting down on the blood splattered couch. The girl – Lilly? – her mother was one of those freaks who kept plastic on the furniture, for dirt protection or whatever. What luck.

“A hunter group is organizing, bunch of big names in their circles. Something seems to be uniting them together and I’d wager a guess it’s you.”

“You don’t usually interrupt me for guesses.” He uses his jeans to wipe the blood off his blade.

“More than a guess then. You know the type Dean, something big would have to get these idiots to be around each other longer than it takes to down a beer. Besides, how longs it been since the last combined attempt to take you out? They’re due another one, your little stunt last month must have motivated them.”

July is always hard for Dean and the honeymoon couples from summer weddings are just too sweet. There’s just something about making someone watch the love of their life die that helps quiet that ache deep inside of him. For one blissful moment when a lover is sobbing uncontrollably for their dead partner, his pain doesn’t feel so isolated.

Let someone else try and feel what he feels, have their life extinguished with the ending of another. Except no amount of tears or screams will ever come close to his pain, no couple he’s taken has ever been soul mates. Still, he always gives them the happy ending he wishes he could have, putting the knife in the partner’s hand and forcing them to push it through their own heart. He’s merciful like that.  

Most of them fight it and Dean’s so disgusted he just shoves it in, giving them what they don’t know they need. But sometimes, rarely, he’ll get someone who tearfully nods, eyes on their dead love as they push the knife to the hilt into their chest with no hesitation.

Those are the best days, the ones that make everything worth it. Except finding a couple like that is frustratingly hard, this new generation just doesn’t embrace true love like they should. Last month it took fifteen couples before finding that till death and beyond love he was looking for. Watching Connor push the knife in deep while holding his dead bride’s hand was worth every single lackluster killing to get there.

Of course thirty dead bodies across the country doesn’t exactly stay under the radar and apparently, his effigies caught the hunter’s attention for what they really were. The work of Dean Winchester’s annual rampage.

“It was July.” Dean shrugs, not owing Crowley any explanation. Not that the demon didn’t draw his own conclusions beyond the basic story hell loved to gossip about.

“Yes, and now we have a group of hunters playing catch and release with demons. It’s a giant pain in the ass, we need to take care of it.”

“Pretty sure this is below my payroll.”

“And I’m pretty sure they have a nice little rig being set up for you as we speak. They’re getting cocky, you need to send a message to hunters who think they have a shot at taking out hell’s elite.”

Dean snorts. “Is that what we’re calling ourselves now?”

“Just go do it.” Crowley crosses his arm as the rumbling of a car pulling into the driveway fills the room. One of those fancy hydraulic engines that are all the rage nowadays but loud as fuck. He prefers the hum of his baby.

“Fine, if it’ll stop you nagging.” He could spare an hour or so before his meeting at least, get a little energy out with some hunter playthings.

“Lily honey, can you help with the groceries?”  

Crowley disappears, having the confirmation he needs and Dean rolls his eyes, tempted for a moment as the mother’s shadow moves down the hall but he has more pressing things to do.

 

…

 

Hunter’s can be fun, they know just enough to be properly scared but still so, so _stupid_.  

He likes his victims to see his face before he kills them, it’s so much more personal that way which is also why he prefers to use a dagger. So he takes his time, carefully disabling the defenses that he’d taught their great grandparents way back when and works his way around to get a feeling for the area.

Appearing in the middle of their camp ensures the chaos he needs to start picking them off in a way that still satisfies him, getting to watch that realization that they’re about to die by his hand before he slashes.

He’s a fan of disembowelment at the moment, messy but it allows for a bit of creativity.

One, two, three… ten, eleven, twelve.

He quickly loses count, surprised at the number of hunters here. Maybe Crowley wasn’t quite overreacting about needing to take care of this. Hunters weren’t a threat but this many organized could potentially do some damage

He’s got a few laughable bullets in his shoulder, the screams of exorcisms being shouted along with the pleas to stop and all together it’s a bit pathetic. They must have really been counting on whatever cage they’d custom built for him.

It’s just the stragglers now, a few teenagers and an old man Dean feels a flicker of familiarity toward. Might be a grandkid of garths, but that doesn’t save him from his knife. He whistles happily as he flicks open the flap of the last tent.

“Get the fuck away!”

It’s a woman, attractive he distantly recognizes, she’s flushed red and holding what looks like holy water -  

It’s splashed right in his face, that distinct sting confirming his guess.

“Wow, stopped me right in my tracks.” Dean grins lazily, spinning his knife in his hand as he moves forward, having to stoop his head slightly in the cramped space.

“Don’t – I’ll kill you -!“ It’s the usual vague threats and he doesn’t waste time carving a second smile into her neck.

It’s quiet then, the soft peace that comes when you’re the only one left breathing the air around you.

“Mama?”

Dean freezes, turning slowly to the little bundle of blankets that seems to be moving. The woman’s decision to stay in the tent making a bit more sense. She couldn’t outrun a demon but maybe she could hide her baby from one.

He doesn’t kill kids, just not his style.

He’s not particularly concerned with them though, having left more than one kid laying in a crib with their parents cut up in the bed next to them. Hopefully, they’d be found by police but not his problem.

He’s weighing his options, considering between leaving the thing in the tent or at least giving it a shot by dropping it on a busy hiking path when it manages to wiggle out of the blankets.

“Mama?”

“Look kid – “ Dean grumbles, looking over only to meet a joltingly familiar pair of hazel eyes.  

His soul ignites.

 

…

 

He won’t tell Dean what his name is no matter what he tries to bribe the kid with. He’s around two by Dean’s guess, has sunflower hazel eyes, curly brown hair, and the spitting image of baby Sam Winchester.

He doesn’t want to say it but he’s getting desperate and what else is supposed to do when he can’t even leave the tent where he killed the kid’s mom half an hour ago. He’d hidden the body under some blankets before the kid could see which probably means he’s already too attached. So he tentatively offers the only name he’s been thinking of since he spotted the rugrat.

“Sam?”

The toddler’s eyes flicker up to Dean’s with a happy smile, kicking his chubby legs. “D’n.”

He can’t breathe. He can’t fucking breathe.

He’s out of the tent, doubling over on his knees to dry heave the minimal amount of coffee he’d had before this whole charade. It burns but it’s the touch of reality he needs to ground himself in this moment. The moment where he apparently goes crazy at the hands of an imaginary baby.

It’s just not possible, it’s not. Dean’s been alone two hundred years and lets himself exist with no consequences, fucking the universe at every turn for what it’s done to him, what it took away.

And now it’s given back.

Little hands are touching his leg, curious coos asking what’s going on and for the first time in two hundred years, Dean flounders. He hasn’t cared for another human being since his world fell apart but here he is wanting to scoop Sam up against his chest and at the same time kill the woman all over again for keeping his baby brother from him – for taking away the parental role Dean has always proudly worn.

When he calms down enough to function again, everything else seems to fall into place. Touching Sam’s little hands makes his entire body burn, a feeling he can still recall in bits in pieces when his father handed a newborn baby brother to him in the hospital.

Dean shouldn’t have a soul, hasn’t felt it since it’s other half died. But this boy doesn’t seem to care about any of that, making it swell in his chest anyway.

“How?” Dean asks him, leaning down on his elbows to look the baby eye to eye, their noses almost touching.

Sam just giggles, reaching out to squish at his face and Dean has to force himself to hold still, unable to even remember the last time he was touched that wasn’t violent.

“You’re not very helpful Sammy.” He grumbles, but the nickname rolls off his tongue easily and Sam seems to brighten when he hears it.

If this is what insanity is he should have lost his grip on reality a long time ago.

 

…

 

Turns out Sam’s mom or whatever she was – he doesn’t really understand the logistics of what put Sam back in his arms, nor does he really care - was one of those new age hippies on top of her hunting lifestyle. At least that’s what he picked up from the duffle bag he went through to find out. It was one of those trends that came and went and apparently was back ‘in’ again.

“I bet you chose her on purpose, you love all that rabbit food.” Dean tells Sam as he digs through the duffle, pulling out crystals and sage only with the usual silver bullets and flannel.

Sam sucks on his fist, content to watch Dean just like he did when they were little and it makes his chest feel tight in the best possible way.

“God, where're your clothes? We just need – “ He frowns, pulling out a worn and dog eared copy of ‘Breasting Feeding your Toddlers’. “Shit.”

As if on cue, Sam’s little tummy starts to growl, giving Dean those big puppy eyes that seem way bigger and wetter than he remembers.

 

…

 

“We’re going to get you off tits ASAP Sam, god.” Dean rolls his eyes but his tone is nothing but fondness as he runs his fingers through Sam’s curls.

Sam had gotten fussy, crying those big crocodile tears and asking for milk and what the hell was Dean supposed to do? He wasn’t going to let his little brother go hungry for fucks sake.

He rubs a thumb over Sam’s chubby little cheek that’s sucking greedily at the breast he’s nuzzled into, pale milky skin clashing against his dark hair.

There’s a muffled cry and Sam pauses in his suckling, looking nervously back up at Dean who smiles encouragingly until he gets back to it. Once Sam’s focus is back on his meal Dean turns his gaze toward the woman in the recliner, duck tape gag wet with tears.

“I told you. No sound.” Dean growls softly, not wanting to upset Sammy’s eating.

The woman tearfully nods, doing her best to show her frantic understanding. She’s got kids sleeping in the next room over and Dean respects the unreserved way she’s trying to protect them with her own body.  

Still, this is about Sam getting enough to eat so he leaves her to stand back against the wall, staying within his brother’s line of sight while he ate since Sam seemed to get restless and teary if he didn’t. Like he’d missed Dean just as much.

Half an hour later and Sam’s that sleepy sort of content that comes after a good meal, a warm weight in Dean’s arms when he picks him back up. It’s so familiar and perfect that Dean only remembers much later that he forgot to kill the woman on his way out.

 

…

 

Crowley doesn’t believe him but since when did he give a flying fuck what Crowley thinks?

“This isn’t healthy Dean.” The demon hisses, watching Sam toddle around the throne room under Dean’s watchful gaze.

It’s been two weeks since he found Sam and promptly dropped off the radar leaving only a camp full of dead hunters behind. He get’s why people were stressed but he had more important things to do, like get Sammy a new wardrobe and baby proof the little cabin he’d claimed years ago but never really done anything with.

And maybe he’s still waiting for the other shoe to drop and the fear of wasting what precious time he had with his little brother made everything else in his life obsolete. So he’d cuddled and read to and played with Sam with the increasing hope that maybe just maybe he can keep this.

Or at least kill whatever might try and take Sam away again, Dean also prepared while he was away, and there’s only one outcome he’ll accept.

“You said the same thing back in the day, you’re just confirming it.” Dean grins, sitting on the edge of a desk.

Crowley just scowls. “You look even more insane with that thing on your face.”

“What?” He rubs over his mouth before realizing what Crowley meant. “I’m happy, get over yourself.”

“You don’t do happy, you do dark and brooding and stabby with a side of tragic rock.”

“That’s not even a thing.”

“You made it a thing, trust me, I’ve heard enough of it over the past two centuries to know it’s a thing.” He growls, looking back at the baby. “You can’t just drop off the radar Dean, you have a job to do. I don’t think you’ve ever gone this long without a kill. Where’s that bloodlust I find so endearing?”

“I’m busy, besides you’ve said from the beginning that I had an obsessive approach. This is me backing off, getting a hobby.”

Crowley didn’t look particularly convinced. “And what happens when you realize that he’s not who you think he is?”

“Crowley.” Dean warns.

“I’m just saying.” He shrugs, sitting back down on the throne. “Try and keep it tidy, you’re a messy slasher when you’re angry.”

 

…

 

Dean wouldn’t say he’s suspicious, he knows exactly who the little boy in front of him is and has the infallible proof of soul mate affirmation to confirm it. He can’t, however, say it’s the same on Sam’s side.

What did the kid think of all this? Was Sam’s big brain somehow shoved in that little body? Did he just recognize Dean and that was where his old Sam ended?

Turns out it's none of the above. At least, as far as Dean could tell.

Sammy's a quiet kid, learning to talk on his own time and then actually speaking only when he felt like it. Dean doesn't really dwell on it though, he knows who Sam is and can remember enough for the both of them.

“No,” Sammy says to the clown hologram at the McDonalds.  “Pwease.” Sammy begs when they pass a Jamba Juice.

He points at Chaucer when they’re in the library and sticks his tongue out at waitresses when they flirt too much at the diner.

Which all points to Sam being somewhat aware of their past life, somewhat in tune with the man he was.

Of course just like Sam he has to be a complicated shit about everything.

“Who’s this?” Dean asks, pointing at the worn and fold creased photo of Sam’s senior picture he’s had in his wallet since his brother had jokingly given it to him. Sammy stares back at it blankly.

He doesn’t know who Crowley is, doesn’t show any recognition when Rowena comes by and pinches his little cheeks.

He’s curious about Cas but he hasn’t seen the angel since he’d moved down to Hell fulltime and isn’t about to rekindle that anytime soon. Or at least that’s what he used to say, the shame he’s starting to feel over it is new and unpredictable.

So Dean doesn’t really know, but every time he tucks Sam into bed at night and get’s a little ‘love you, De’ back he’s reminded that it doesn’t really matter.  

Crowley isn’t quite as settled though, accepting of Sam’s presence in hell but not so much with Dean’s sudden lack of work ethic.

“Would you like to give me a good reason why you couldn’t do this job?” Crowley growls, stepping over the dead senator at his feet.

Dean remains silent, partly because he doesn’t have to answer to anyone and partly because well… Dean understands a lesson from the universe when one’s being taught.

“This is getting ridiculous Dean, you’re a demon for fuck's sake. This isn’t the time to get a bleeding heart.”

“That’s not what this is.” Dean snarls. “I’m just a bit off my game, It’s fine.”

“Is it? Because from where I stand it’s only getting worse.”

“What do you fucking want from me Crowley? You’ve got a hoard of your spawn to kill for you, what’s one less?”

There’s a long silence, Dean stiffening slightly with what he’d given away.

“Killing? You have a problem with killing? Excuse me, have you looked in a fucking mirror? I’d like to introduce you to Dean Winchester, bloodthirsty killer!”

Dean grinds his teeth, refusing to be baited.

“It’s that kid, you find that thing and suddenly you’re a fucking saint. Well, I’ve got news for you Dean, if you’re trying to get back into heaven that ships long since sailed.” Crowley steps forward, blood soaked carpet squelching with each step as he leans in close. “They don’t let filth like you near the gate.”

Dean’s fist flies fast, cracking into bone and breaking Crowley’s nose in a solid sweep, sending the demon reeling back into the floor.

“This,” Crowley spits a mouthful of blood. “is who you are. Don’t kid yourself.”

 

…

 

He doesn’t go back to Hell after that because Fuck Crowley. Living there and being under the king was more for appearances anyway, he was always his own man.

So they leave hell permanently, dividing time between the cabin and road trips to wherever the hell they feel like going. Sam get’s bigger and Dean get’s friendly with the moms and dads at the playground in the closest town.

It’s nice, domestic even.

Sammy seems less than convinced, watching him with the little line of worry between his eyes that is so heartbreakingly familiar he can’t resist dropping a kiss to his head to smooth it out.

“They say he’s a Nightstalker copycat – you know that serial killer from back in the old days?” A waitress in their most recent diner gossips in the booth behind them.  

There’s a hum of agreement. “Makes sense. A real tragedy what happened to Lynn and her husband.”

Dean rolls his eyes, only half listening as they drone off into the gruesome excitement of death even if it’s right in their own town.

“You should check it out.”

His gaze flicks to his brother, seven years old and already obsessed with serial killers again it seems. “Eat your short stack, that’s not our game – hasn’t ever been our game.”

“We took out those guy’s in – “ He frowns, worrying his lip between his teeth as he tries to grasp at the memories that flowed like water between his fingers. It was frustrating for Sam but almost too good to be true for Dean.

“Minnesota.” Dean provides easily. “And only because your ass was picked up.”

Sam grins, all dimples as he dunks his head to drink his chocolate milk. Dean doubts he remembers much of it, his memories seeming to be selective according to his age. He’s only just starting to remember hunting together and has no idea Lucifer is anything more than a myth.

“Still. You’d like it.” Sam continues, stubbornly insistent.

“I’d like it?” He laughs.

“Yeah… I think it would be good for you.”

Dean frowns, not understanding where his little brother is going with this but is interrupted when the waitress comes over with their check.

He thought the topic was finished until they’re at the small history museum in the town, Sam insisting on stopping despite this place only being a pit stop on their way back home from California.

“We’ve been to the National History Museum like five times this year, how is this even holding your attention.” Dean teases, holding Sam’s hand as they walk through the one room exhibit.

“Because it’s cool!”

“Nerd.” Dean coughs and Sam gives his shin a good kick in response.

“Hello!” A man is suddenly in front of them, a big smile welcoming them into his humble museum. A kind face, open posture, and darkness radiating off him so thick Dean nearly chokes on it.

Sam’s already shifting behind him, unable to sense souls like a knight can but can read Dean’s face just fine.

“Hi,” Dean says curtly. “we’re not looking for a tour.”

“Aw, history’s much more fun when you have a bit of background. Let me give you the spiel.” He insists with a charismatic grin.

“No.” Dean rolls his eyes, having no time for this kind of bullshit and nudges Sam ahead of him as they walk out of the building. “What a creep.”

“Dean.” Sam tugs on his hand.

“What?” He looks down and instantly regrets it, Sam’s eyes big and hazel and pouting up at him.

Which of course means he ends up lurking in the darkness of some house at two in the morning, having followed the creep here.

“Why’s he taking so long?” Sam whispers, looking out the window to where their killer was lingering across the street in his car.

Oh yeah, and he wasn’t about to leave Sam alone in a town with a killer on the loose so here he was. Better in Dean’s sight than to find out the fucker had an accomplice who liked kids.

Sam think’s he’s paranoid but he also doesn’t remember any of his own numerous deaths.   

“Siking himself up probably, I’m sure this whole thing is a trip for him.” He whispers back, glancing up the stairs to where the Morris’s bedroom door was firmly closed.

Sam yawns, leaning back against his chest, the serial killer evidently not being that exciting this much past bedtime.

The man finally makes a move, getting out of his car and creeping across the road. He makes surprisingly quick work of the lock and is in, making his way silently to the kitchen.

‘Showtime’, Dean thinks and holds Sam’s hand as he sneaks up behind the killer, grabbing him one handed over the mouth.

In a blink, they’re gone, in the middle of the desert a few miles away and the man’s eyes nearly bug out of his head as Dean tosses him to the ground. Sam turns around and covers his ears, holding up his end of the deal that Dean had insisted on.

“I changed my mind about that tour.” He explains to the man before firing a bullet straight through his brain.

It’s clean and quick, everything Dean had wanted. Except his hands are shaking, gun nearly falling out of his hand as his fingers fight to keep their grip. His blood is boiling in his veins and his thoughts overwhelmed by the power of death.

The rush of strength is the only thing that makes him realize how weak he’d gotten. The wave of blood to his senses tell him how dulled they’d been.

Sam’s arms wrap around his legs, another yawn stretching his jaw. “You feel better?”

He drops down to his knees, his tears feeling as meaningless as they dry ground that swallows them up. “Yeah.” He whispers and it feels like betrayal.  

 

…

 

The road trips are still road trips, they just tend to make a few more stops on the way to wherever they’re going. They’re hunting a different kind of monster now.

Sam is unphased, his stomach for blood and violence not having changed with his rebirth and thank god for that. So instead of Dean having to worry about somehow scarring Sam with his hobby, he’s got a completely different kind of problem.   

“Why!” Sam shouts, fists clenching in frustration as he stomps up from the couch in the cabin.

“Because you’re fifteen, because I’m a few hundred or thirty-seven depending on how you look at it, because that’s not what we’re going to do?” Dean says patiently.

“It didn’t matter that you were older than me the first time, I remember Dean!”

“I was a kid Sam, and a four-year difference and a twenty-two year difference isn’t the same thing.”

Sam scowls and marches down to his room, slamming the door hard enough to rattle the TV stand. Sam and puberty were never going to be easy on him in any life.

He sighs and leans back into the cushions, every day an uphill battle that Sam seems set on fighting. Ever since he was thirteen and started getting the memories of their relationship, he’d been pushing at Dean for more.

It not like Dean isn’t affectionate. They’re closer than normal, always have been in either life. Dean’s never stopped holding Sam’s hand and chaste kisses were just par for the course. He’s a man of action who communicates best with his body language, touches always saying what he can’t put into words.

But that doesn’t satisfy Sam.

The wet dreams don't help either, Sam telling him point blank about the steamy encounters he only seems to recall in the middle of the night, his brain playing him exactly what he wants. Dean pointing out that they're both adults in those memories doesn’t seem to deter him.

What were affectionate kisses on the cheek turned into Sam trying to steal one on the lips which okay, fine he could handle, but when tongue started to be involved Dean had to shut that down quick and give it all up.  

Touching, in general, was at a minimum and with Sam’s constant sourly disappointed mood it wasn’t like a lot of loving verbal exchanges were being passed. So while Sam was sexually frustrated, Dean just missed his best friend.

Sam was it for him, always had been. He knew that at four when the baby was passed into his arms in the hospital, at fifteen when none of the girls he slept with could make his heart flutter like Sam did just smiling at him, and at thirty when he rolled over in the mornings to see the drooling face that was the love of his life.

Dean has been celibate for two hundred years, another three was nothing.

And while he could confidently bask in the memories of their past relationship, for Sam it was just a teasing glimpse at something he was desperate for. He argued until he was out of breath about societal institutions and social taboos but Dean didn’t give a fuck. He isn't not sleeping with Sam out of some act of moral decency, it's still fucking incest, so all of that was a moot point.

Right now Dean’s job is to be Sam’s parent as much as the kid liked to think he was so mature and didn’t need it. Sure, Dean had always filled that role but it had been when he was a kid himself and had no real idea about what he was doing.  

Sam has structure even with their nomadic lifestyle, he has homework for his homeschooling, chores, and responsibilities; all of which Dean is the one in charge of. Adding another layer of a sexual relationship with that kind of imbalance was unhealthy for both of them, and Dean isn’t going to put Sam in that kind of position.

Which makes him the bad guy and if he didn’t know better he’d say this was his punishment for his first few centuries as a demon. Of course, an angry Sam was a gift compared to the bleakness without him so he knows that’s not true.

This fight is apparently particularly irritating for Sam because Dean receives the silent treatment for two days.  

July first he wakes up to cold feet pushing between his legs to warm them up and a mop of thick hair under his nose as a face nuzzles into his chest.

Dean grunts, wrapping his arms around him and turning, keeping them both in the pocket of warmth, the sun just starting to peek through the crack in the curtains.

“You done ignoring me?” He murmurs without opening his eyes, voice thick with sleep.

Sam doesn’t comment, just wraps his arms tighter around Dean’s waist and he contently accepts the embrace.

They’re quiet, just lazing in the early morning light as the crack of light moves slowly over the bed.

“Are you okay?” Sam asks when the glowing clock projected on the night table clicks toward eleven.

Dean nods, curling Sam’s hair around his fingers. “Yeah.” He says quietly. He can hear the wheels in Sam’s head turning and gently flicks his ear. “I am, don’t over analyze, brat.”

“Just checking… can we look at the pictures?”

Dean smiles and then they’re in the living room, a box of lucky charms between them as he takes the lid off Sam’s memory box.

“This is mine?” Sam prompts, knowing very well that it is but likes the tradition of the story all the same.

Dean nods with a soft smile, looking through the yellowed pages and trinkets. “Yep, anything you thought was worth keeping or a reminder of a good memory you’d throw in here. You’re such a girl.”

Sam laughs and leans over, pulling out his favorite photograph, the one Bobby took of the two of them laughing at a joke Dean can’t remember. “And this one?”

“Bobby’s, we just finish off a werewolf hunt and went back to check in. It was pretty soon after Dad died so everything was a little raw. You used to tell me that you were sure Bobby figured out that we were together when he saw the picture.” Dean recounts with a smile, lingering over his brother’s laughing face but Sam’s already moving onto the next item.

Pamphlets, notes they’d written each other, even a goddamn grocery list that Sam felt compelled to save for some reason – all of them get the little story, a piecemeal recount of their life together. Every year Sam remembers a little more on his own and Dean’s hopeful that one July Sam can open up the box and tell Dean each and every little thing inside and why it’s there – even the goddamn grocery list.

Especially the grocery list.

Sam shoves a hand into the cereal box for a handful, popping a marshmallow into his mouth with a grin as Dean picks up the amulet. They switched recipes several times over the years and what’s left tastes nothing like what they ate as children but it’s the principle of the thing.

“Hmm,” Dean inspect the amulet. “I don’t remember what this thing is.”  

“Dean!” Sam gasps in betrayal, the amulet the very first thing in the box he’d remembered from his own perspective, it having a special place in his heart besides the original meaning.

“Why don’t you tell it.” Dean grins and passes it over, the metal warm from his skin.

“I was going to give it to Dad but he didn’t show up and I was super disappointed. But you were there – you were always there.” He smiles and leans into Dean’s side, twirling the amulet by its cord. “It was a protective amulet so why the hell was I giving it to dad when you were the one I wanted to protect most? So I gave it to you.” He reaches up and puts the cord over Dean’s head, the amulet falling to rest against his collarbone like a ghost limb.

It’s always a bit overwhelming, the memories so raw like this and he gently pulls Sam back into his arms.

“You miss him?” Sam asks softly.

“I have him where it counts.” Dean murmurs and holds Sam a bit tighter.

 

 

…

 

“It’s only ten days.”

Screaming.

“Dean.”

Gut wrenching, bloody, gasping screaming

“Sam.” Dean repeats, using his pliers to yank a molar from the man’s gums. There’s a gurgle as blood fills his mouth, head tilted back and tied to the operating table so he has no choice but to swallow or choke. His gaping mouth is a black mass, only two more specks of white to be pulled and the ring gag Dean had picked up keeps him nice and wide.

“You do realize that days themselves are just calculations of our rotational direction toward the sun. They don’t mean anything!”

“You’re seventeen. In ten days – or rotations -  you’ll be eighteen. Seems like the definition of meaning to me.” He tugs out the last two teeth in quick succession, each making a dull clunk as he lets them drop onto the tiled floor.

“Please!” The man sobs though with the gag it comes out garbled but the feeling behind the words is there.

“Look at you, getting to beg for your life. Didn’t give your patients the same courtesy when you pumped them full of drugs did you?” Dean clicks the pliers thoughtfully as he looks down at his latest victim. “Killing old people in a senior center. Can you be any more pathetic?”

The man starts to cry and Dean rolls his eyes. What would have once given him a rush that made the insanity of his existence slip a little further away from the light now just makes him irritated. The power is there, thrumming under his skin and invigorating his very being but the lust for it is gone. His soul burns up the space it once inhabited, soothing away the hurt that once took his darkness from dangerous to dangerously unhinged.

He likes to think his work is the welcoming package before he sends them off to hell.

He looks around the abandoned health clinic, having been a little serial killer like himself with finding an almost poetic place to kill his target. The nurse can die on a hospital bed, just like his victims.

Of course, Sam isn’t exactly helping with the theatrics he’s made an effort to include.

“I’m not going to be any different right now then I am in ten days, I don’t get why you’re being such an ass about this.”

“Of course you’ll be different, you’ll be ten days older.” He hums, picking up a syringe and tracing it up the man's restrained torso.

“Dean!” Sam groans in frustration. “You’re a dick.”

“I made a promise Sam, I’m not going to break it on a technicality.” He continues up the man's neck before holding the needle directly over his eye, watching the dilation of fear as the point hovers centimeters above the lens.

“Well I never asked you to make it, so it doesn’t matter if you break the promise.”

“It’s a promise to myself, and those are the most important. Isn’t that what your motivational books say?” He slowly lowers the syringe, needle piercing through the cornea at a slow and steady pace as the man howls like an animal, body trying to seize against the restraints.

Sam huffs, resting his head on his knees as he pulls them into his chest. His growth spurt his overnight last year and accompanied by all the aches and pains Dean hated the first time around. Midnight ice baths and rubbing out sore muscles are a constant in their house at the moment, Sam turning into the beanpole he was meant to be one painful inch at a time.  

The man barely lasts a few seconds before he’s passing out from the pain but Dean’s ready to finish this anyway.

He grabs the tubing and starts to set up the IV line, not caring to be delicate as he shoves a needle up a vein.  “While we’re talking about your birthday you haven’t told me what you want. Besides the obvious.”

“There isn’t anything else I want.”

“You know Sam, you make this pretty fucking difficult sometimes.”

Sam just gives him a sweet grin, the smile of a teenager who knows he’s going to get laid soon even if he’s driving Dean up a wall about the date.

“Bitch,” Dean shakes his head fondly as he starts up the line with the same cocktail the nurse used on his patients.

Sam’s right behind him now and just a head shorter, a distance shrinking by the day. “Jerk.” He grumbles and Dean turns his head to meet his lips in a soft kiss.

On May first Dean goes to bed with a tentative plan for the next day. He’s got the stuff for strawberry shortcake waffles and a vintage drive in that just opened in mind.

At midnight those plans go out the window when Sam crawls into his bed.

“You hurtin?” He asks, still half asleep as he blindly reaches out to rub Sam’s back, only to come in contact with bare skin.

“Happy birthday to me.” Sam whispers before leaning down and kissing Dean so dirty he’s affronted at where his baby brother could learn something like that with no practice.

“- Fucking hell, Sam” Dean gasps as they break the kiss, sitting up slightly to look at his gorgeous and officially legal baby brother. Of course incest was still illegal, not that much changed since the first time they did this.

“I told you I was ready.” He grins but the bravado is slipping slightly. As much as he’s been fighting for it and has seen it play out in his memories, he’s still a kid and this is still his first time.

“C’mere, baby.” Dean gently guides him in against his chest, rubbing slow circles down his bare back to relax him. “We gonna do this right now?”

“Yeah, want it so bad. Want you so bad – made me wait so long you, jerk.”

Dean hums in acknowledgment, hand dropping low to his boxers and gripping a handful of round, perky ass. “Sammy, I’m going to let you in on a little secret.”

Sam perks up, pulling back to look at Dean curiously and he can’t help but let out a dark chuckle. “Oh, baby.”

He moves then, abruptly flipping Sam over onto his back, arms pinned above his head as Dean hovers dangerously over top him, their noses almost brushing. “You think you want me? You have no idea what want is.” He growls roughly.

“I-“ he breaks off as Dean’s open mouth drags up the side of his face, sucking wetly at his ear before moving back down to force open Sam’s, tongue greedily licking and claiming the inside of his mouth as Dean’s own.

“No idea what it’s like to be so close but unable to touch.” One hand holds his trapped wrists while the other moves down and slides off Sam’s boxers with a practiced touch, leaving him naked in the moonlight. “Fuck yes.” He pants, letting go of Sam’s hands in favor of hauling up his legs, nearly doubling him in half.

“Dean! What – “

“Look how pretty baby, just as perfect as I remember.” Dean murmurs, spreading his ass slowly to take in every inch of pink hole. “That’s it, show it to me.”

Sam’s face is red hot, having thought he had a good idea of what this was going to be like from his dreams and memories but he’s never been more wrong in his life, cock leaking at the sight of Dean finally letting go.

“Sam.” There’s a sharp smack to his ass, quick and more shocking in the sound than actual pain. “I told you to do something.”

Dean grins as he watches a spurt of precome leak out of his brother’s cock, his baby was a little slut for this and Dean wasn’t going to pull any punches with his introduction to their sex life. “Push it out, flex it for me, baby.” He instructs, resting a finger against the pucker, licking his lips as he feels Sam practice working the muscles underneath. “That’s it, good boy.”

He reaches over for the lube blindly with his free hand, the tube in his nightstand his favored for masturbation rather than sex but he doesn’t have the patience to grab the bottle in the next room he’d bought for their first time. Nothing could pull him away from Sam right now.

“It’s going to be cold but you usually like this.” He smiles, pressing a kiss to his ass before pushing his index finger slightly into his hole to open it up.

“D-Dean – “ Sam’s voice wavers, the burn of a dry finger, even just the tip a lot to handle, a foreign and uncomfortable feeling.

“I know, I know.” He coos, rubbing a hand up his thigh as he works it in deeper. “Gotta learn to relax baby and the best way to do that is to know what it feels like when you don’t.”

He laughs as Sam’s responding pout. “Don’t give me that look, we’re done. Now for the good part.” The tube has a nice thin tip, perfect for pushing into Sam’s hole without too much fuss. “Tell me how it feels.”

“Uh,” Sam shifts his hips slightly, toes flexing where they were hanging by his head. “Not really like anything – holy shit!”

Dean hums, squeezing the tube and filling the bit of Sam that had opened up with lube, nothing like what his adult self could take when he was properly stretched but a nice little introduction to Sam’s obsession with being filled up.

“Good boy, that’s what I like to hear.” He praises, pulling out the tube and replacing it with two fingers, forcing past the tight ring to quickly stretch him open.

“Oh – D-Dean – it’s a lot –“ Sam’s face scrunches at the stretch, it taking a moment for the lube to spread and soothe the way into a more comfortable glide.

“Two fingers baby, if you can’t take that then you don’t want to see my cock.” He tsks, speeding up his fingers and adding a third without warning.

“Dean - Dean  – Stop!” Sam grunts and Dean immediately stills, letting his fingers rest half way into his hole.

“You want me to take them out or just wait?” He asks easily, rubbing soothing circles on his thigh.

“I – uh – “ He swallows, looking a bit lost as his cock strains between his legs.

“Did it hurt enough to want to stop or was it just scary?” Dean prompts, pressing a kiss to the inside of his knee.

Sam considers it. “… Scary.” He admits, rubbing his face in embarrassment.

“Hey now – none of that.” Without moving his occupied hand he reaches over and keeps Sam from hiding behind his own. “Sammy listen to me, first, I know you like this, I love it just as much as you do so there’s no reason to be embarrassed. Second, I don’t care if I'm mid orgasm – if you feel seriously uncomfortable in a not sexy way or want to stop, you just say. It’s not going to hurt my feelings or make me think you can’t handle it. I’d be disappointed if you didn’t tell me and were hurtin’” Dean stretches forward, leaning their heads together for a moment. “You want us to stop and we can have some lazy vanilla sex for your first time I am one hundred percent on board.”

Sam nuzzles back into his brother contently, deep breath rocking the fingers still inside of him. “Big speech, big brother.” He teases but the smile is all Dean needs to see to know his message got across. “Fuck no are we stopping, don’t be an idiot.”

“That’s my boy.” Dean presses a slow, wet kiss to his lips before pulling back up and starting fucking all three fingers in at a steady pace.

“Do you not want me to feel it when you go in?” Sam laughs when he finally pulls his fingers out, hole gaping slightly from the stretch.

Dean chuckles darkly, rubbing the bulge of his pajama pants as he watches Sam’s hole try to flutter closed.  “First times all around Sammy, I haven't sunk my dick into anything wet in a long time so watch your mouth.”

He adjusts their position, taking off his shirt and leaning down between Sam’s legs, letting him rest his calves on his shoulders instead of in the air. “How’s that feel?”

“Good,” Sam confirms, leaning up for a kiss that Dean happily gives, letting Sam’s fingers trace over his nipples.

“You know what, I think I’ve changed my mind. Maybe we’ll wait till you’re nineteen.” He hums, pulling back from his lips thoughtfully.

“Fuck you.” Sam laughs, kicking Dean’s chest.

He undoes the drawstring and pushes down his pajama pants and boxers in one go, cock red and leaking as he gives it a quick pump to take the edge off.

“Okay so – Sam?”

Sam’s not listening, eyes fixed firmly between Dean’s legs with a look of hunger that rivals Dean’s own.

“My little cock hungry slut, I've missed you.” Dean snickers, moving his hips forward so all ten inches rubs against Sam’s stomach, pre come leaving wet paths against his skin.

“It wasn’t for lack of trying on my part, you could have had this way earlier.” Sam tries to throw back but it comes out weak, too focused on the way his smaller cock disappeared when Dean thrusts forward.

Sam may eventually be the bigger brother but Dean has always had the inches where he needs it and pleasing his baby brother was always number one.

“This is going inside you sweetheart, that little hole is going to take every single inch even if I have to fuck your stomach to get there.” He slows, letting Sam see just how big his cock was against his stomach, how deep inside it was going to reach. “Look at my baby brother, good thing you’re so tall or –“

Sam interrupts him with a soft cry, cock spurting streaks of come all over his stomach and chest, Dean’s cock lazily pushing through it as he rubs against Sam’s and gives him a bit of friction to work through it.

“Beautiful, Sammy.” He leans down to lick a streak of come off his stomach, moaning at the taste he’s been craving desperately for centuries. “Got yourself nice and relaxed for me.”

He can’t wait anymore, Sam in that soft haze of post orgasm is just too delicious to resist and he presses close, squirting lube onto the length and stroking over it as he smacks Sam’s hole with the tip.

The head of his cock is always stubborn, having to brace on his knees and shove forward until it finally pops with a wet squelch and by then Sam is fully back in the present, eyes wide at his first time being filled.

“Look at you Sam, cherry’s been popped, baby boy.” He pants, working his hips as he grinds in, forcing Sam’s hole to give up that sweet ass to him. This isn’t new, Dean’s a master of Sam’s body and it’s like coming home to sink back into the familiar hot squeeze around his dick, working for each inch a familiar fight.

Sam’s lost, face scrunching in blunt pain and sparking pleasure as Dean does the work to get them both there. The first time more about the journey than the destination and he tells Sam as much but he doesn’t seem to be listening.

Halfway in he bumps against that magical little spot that turns Sam from a silent body to a withering participant, gasping out Dean’s name as he wiggles his skinny body to try and repeat whatever the hell just happened.

“Easy, Sam.” Dean laughs, letting him try and fuck himself back on his cock for a moment. “We’ll get you there again, but first I’m getting inside of you.” He punctuates this with a hard thrust that Sam just snickers at.

“What was that?” Dean growls, pulling back and thrusting back in hard enough for Sam’s breath to be pushed out in a grunt but it quickly turns to more laughter.

“You fuck like an old man.” Sam challenges with a grin, “I think I need someone younger to keep up with me, I mean look at how long it’s taking you to get inside.”

“Oh, Sammy,” Dean coos. “You shouldn’t have said that.”

Sam just grins but it’s wiped clean off his face when Dean hauls his ass up and wastes no time in sinking his cock in balls deep, Sam’s desperate scream music to his ears.

“Scream for me sweetheart, because I’m not stopping until I come deep inside your tight little ass, gonna load you up and lick you clean and you’re going to thank me for every minute of it.”  He snarls, nipping at the delicate skin of Sam’s throat.

“Please, fuck Dean – need you!” Sam cries and it just spurs Dean on, ramming him hard with each thrust going as deep as possible.

“Bruising you up, making you mine from the inside out. Never gonna be with anyone else are you?” He hisses, eyes flashing black as he grinds into Sam’s warm softness, knowing he won’t ever be able to give this up a second time.

“Never- never!” Sam gasps, hand moving to touch his cock but Dean smacks it away.

“You want to come, you come on my dick.” He growls, licking at the hollow of his throat. “Be a good bitch and squeeze that hole, make me load up that tummy.”

Sam’s gone before he even finishes, cock squirting wetly and splashing both of them as Dean keeps going, watching as his thrust pushes another burst of come out of Sam’s cock.

With his baby satisfied, Dean’s focus turns to himself, hauling Sam’s ass even higher as he starts a punishing speed, smacking his round ass cheeks to get him to tighten up. It’s good, perfect even, but it’s the sight of Sam’s blissed out and sweet loving smile looking up at him that makes Dean’s balls tighten and his cock burst.

“Fuck yeah.” He gasps, pulling out of Sam and flipping him over, manhandling his pliant body up onto his knees. “Push baby.”

Sam groans into the pillow stubbornly.

Dean rolls his eyes at his beautiful brat of a brother, spreading his cheeks wide to take in the swollen hole he’s just ruined.  “I said push.”

The rim flutters gently, Dean’s thick come dripping down as Sam does his best to try and work it back out of his body. “That’s it, does it feel so good inside you? Warming you up?” He coos, dipping his fingers into the drip and working it back inside, massaging into his sensitive walls as Sam keens.  “Shh. Be good.”

He presses a quick to his hole when he finishes before promptly collapsing next to his baby brother, exhausted.

“You’re a freak.” Sam yawns, curling up against Dean’s chest as he moves the two of them out of the wet spot and back under the blankets.

“Why do you think I’m a freak? Because your freaky ass wouldn’t take no for an answer, always pushing everything we did.” He hums into his hair fondly. “How was it?”

“Perfect,” Sam grins happily, stretching his aching body with a content sigh. “everything I wanted. Sexy as hell.”

“Good.” Dean presses a firm kiss to his lips, that all he could ask for. 

“What about for you? It’s your first time too… since what happened.”

“Couldn’t have imagined it better.” He kisses Sam’s head, smoothing away that little worry line. “You’re just fine Sammy, there’s nothing for you to compare to. It’s all you.”

“You promise?”

“Promise.”

 

…

 

July 2014

 

Dean rolls over on a Saturday morning, everything lazy and soft despite the million things on their to do list. He doesn’t care about any of that though, the only thought on his mind is wrapping his arms around the warm body lying next to him.

“Dean – “ Sam groans and Dean can feel the vibrations of his voice against his chest. “Wha- time’sit?”

“Seven, go back to sleep.” He lies, pulling Sam into his chest.

He can tell little brother doesn’t believe but Sam’s feeling the lazy morning too because he doesn’t call him out on it, just lets Dean hold him.  

“Your eyes are black.” Sam murmurs after a moment, giving him a soft nudge.

“They always change when I’m sleeping, I don’t know what the deal is..” He blinks, black flickering to green after a few attempts.

“There we go.” Sam smiles, leaning in to kiss between his eyes and Dean feels his cheeks heating up slightly. A lifetime of devotion and he still gets fucking butterflies, a chick flick moment if he’s ever heard of one.

Sam moves down to kiss Dean’s lips next, slipping his tongue in after the first pass.

He supposes he can let it slide, they are soul mates after all.

“Cas said he was coming at eleven, what time is it really?” Sam murmurs, pulling back when both their lips are equally bitten.

“Uh… ten forty?” Dean grins, sneaking his hands down to squeeze Sam’s firm ass. “Too late, guess we have to stay in bed.”

“Dude,” Sam laughs, trying to get out of bed despite Dean’s insistent grip on his waist. His few stubborn tugs quickly escalate until they’re wrestling, pillows, and comforter strewn on the floor as they fight to pin the other to the mattress.

The adrenalin of a little competition is thrilling, Dean’s body soaring on the rush it gives him as he fights to dodge every move his little brother makes – searching for a weakness – needing that satisfaction of blood –

“Dean.” Sam says calmly.

Dean blinks, his tunnel vision flooding with light as everything started to filter back in, sounds and scents and sight –

He stiffens.

Sam’s laying pinned underneath him, still and pliant as the palm of Dean’s hand rests squarely on his throat, one push away from crushing his larynx and sealing off the airway for immediate suffocation.

“Fuck!” Dean shouts, making Sam jump slightly as he throws himself off the bed, backing up into the wall. “Fucking hell Sam!”

“Hey – you came back, it’s okay.” Sam soothes gently, holding his hands out nonthreateningly

Like Dean’s an animal. An animal likely to attack.

“I’m supposed to be getting better at this - Cas said – Fuck!” He pulls at his hair in frustration.

“Dean,” Sam moves off the bed, graceful as always when he kneels down next to Dean on the floor, gently taking his hand.

“We’re going to figure this out, Cas just said we need time for your body to settle, for you to gain better control.”

“I don’t have time – did you see what just happened! I shouldn’t be here Sam!”

“Yeah, I did. And do you see my running anywhere?”

“No, but you’ve always been an idiot.”

Sam rolls his eyes, running his fingers over Dean’s callouses. “I’m not going anywhere, but you already know that.” He turns Dean’s chin toward him. “I'm never going to leave you alone. Not ever. And especially not when you need me most.”

“Sammy …” Dean fights the pressure in his throat and wetness pricking his eyes. He might not have complete control over his body but he could do his best not to break down like a fucking baby.

“Not ever,” Sam repeats, holding his gaze with a ferocity Dean won’t obsess over the meaning of until much, much later.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I've been tossing around the idea of maybe doing a verse with this. Maybe going into Dean immediately after Sam's death or Rebirthed Sam as an adult. Lot's of potential glimpses here. If anyone has anything that they'd like to see from this AU timeline I'd love to hear it. Or tell me if you think it's fine as is and shouldn't be expanded, I'm back and forth if it might stand stronger as just a single piece. I dunno, but I'd love some feedback. Give the people what they want and all that haha.


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